Les Profondeurs à Qu'ils Tombent
by Icy Discordia
Summary: Just a prologue as of yet. Set in Rennaisance France, the roles have been switched.11x13 so far. Non-yaoi. Pro-ch.6: '"..are we to kill all members of the household, even the children?” He didn’t even look at him, giving him a blunt, foreboding “y
1. At the Palace

1.1.1 Author's note: Hiro is spelled wrong for a reason. I am not referring to Heero the gundam pilot, I'm talking about the original Heero Yuy that was assassinated. I'm spelling it Hiro to make it easier to understand the difference. Also the Queen is a made-up character, the princess is the Lucrezia Noin we know and love. This is just a prologue. AND! The prologue turned out to be fifteen pages so I'm splitting it up into parts. Non- yaoi. Now that we have that cleared up, enjoy!  
  
Pro. Ch. 1  
  
April 7, 1563  
  
"Absolutely not!" cried King Hiro Yuy, his fierce brown eyes flashing dangerously. " That lake has been a part of France for as far back as any legible records go. I most certainly will not give an occupied section of my country to Spain just so your brother can build his dream palace on the shore! Not when the land is actually being put to use by my people in feeding the rest of us respectable French. Good, fertile soil would only go to waste if it were a part of Spain," he spat the word in contempt, "where all you would do is look at it. I've heard enough! Ridiculous Spanish! Don't write that part, squire."  
  
The uniformed squire looked up from the parchment and quill pen he had been using to write his king's response to the request just received from the king of Spain, nodded in acknowledgement of the admittance and re- dipped the pen in the ink. His eyes followed his ruler's agitated pacing, pen point poised over the half-finished letter, waiting for the next brainstorm's outburst to emerge from Hiro's anger thinned lips.  
  
Then there was a soft squeaking noise coming from the doorway that made both men look up. The heavy oak and brass door was slightly ajar for a mysterious moment before a small, black head poked through near the doorknob.  
  
"Daddy? Mother says to tell you that it's bed time and Hilde and I have to go to sleep now." Four-year old Princess Lucrezia smiled endearingly at her father.  
  
King Hiro's infuriated expression faded at the sight of his pretty little daughter. "Alright Lucrezia, tell your mother I will be there in a minute. I'll read a little more of A Midsummer's Night Dream, how's that?"  
  
The princess's purple eyes that were so unlike her father's own deep brown ones lit up in anticipation. "Okay! Bye!" She added to the squire, who was somewhat embarrassed to witness his highness's private relationship with the princess. He simply gave her a humble nod.  
  
He watched as the little girl giggled and left the room, her long raven hair swinging back behind her. The squire turned back to the king and, seeing that his mind was going to turn back to his current, frustrating predicament and his attitude souring again, the young man hastily complemented the princess in an attempt to maintain the royal's good mood. "Princess Lucrezia looks prettier every time I see her Your Majesty. She's growing fast."  
  
The returning scowl on Hiro's face retreated for the moment as a look of fond pride dominated it. "Yes, thank you squire." He sighed heavily. "I suppose I should go tuck my pretty little daughters into bed, eh? Well, we can wait to finish this until tomorrow, squire. It will give the messenger a chance to rest and his mount to gather its strength. Be in this room at nine o'clock sharp tomorrow morning and we'll continue."  
  
"Very good sir. Sleep well." The squire replied as the king swept out the doorway his daughter had previously occupied.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Princess Lucrezia shut the door to her father's office behind her and, checking to make sure no nobles were there to see her, raced down the hall, across the gigantic ballroom, up the wide grand staircase and through the corridors to the royal family's private quarters. Hiking her long red skirts up, she rounded a corner and ran head-on into someone her own height. She looked up, rubbing her aching head, about to scold the clumsy servant when she realized that she had bumped into Lady Sally.  
  
The other little girl recognized her at the same time, holding her own bruised forehead, and her blue-gray eyes widened in surprise and delight.  
  
Lady Sally Po and Princess Lucrezia Noin Yuy stood up at the same time and started apologizing profusely. They stopped, and looking at each other, burst out laughing.  
  
"Sally! Guess what? My dad's going to read Hilde and I some more of A Midsummer Night's Dream. Do you want to join us?" Lucrezia eagerly asked her best friend.  
  
"I'd love to!" she exclaimed. Then, remembering her manners, she added, "If it's all right with you and your parents, of course."  
  
"I'm sure it is." The princess wasn't wishfully thinking either. Lady Sally was just one of the young girls residing in the palace as her personal playmates. Sally's parents eagerly sent their daughter to the palace six months ago when King Hiro and Queen Noin requested little girls of their noble friends to be introduced as companions for their young daughter. Her Majesty was afraid that, with the imminent birth of the baby growing in her womb, she wouldn't have enough time for her eldest.  
  
Although many girls were sent and some were still coming, Sally Po seemed to be the only one the princess had formed a close bond with. She was courteous to every new arrival and dutifully spent at least one afternoon in 'playtime' with them but their names were never brought up again and they were soon sent home to their disappointed parents.  
  
At first Lucrezia's parents were apprehensive about the relationship between herself and the somewhat wild Sally (wild in comparison to the other prim and proper young ladies of the kingdom). After time, though, they too grew fond of the girl and accepted their inseparable friendship.  
  
The little girls flew down the hall a bit further and stopped in front of an ivory door with gold trimming. In Victorian-style writing it said 'Princess Lucrezia's room' at the top in small gold letters.  
  
Sally and Lucrezia opened the door a crack and peeked in. A tall woman with glossy black hair pulled back in an intricate style was walking slowly around the room cradling a pink bundle in her arms. Although the four-year-olds had been completely silent the lady looked up immediately, turning kind, bright blue eyes upon the girls.  
  
"Daddy said he will be here in a minute, mother. He's gonna read more of A Midsummer Night's Dream, too! Is it alright if Sally stays here and listens too, please?" Lucrezia spilled out without taking a breath.  
  
Queen Noin Yuy couldn't help but smile at her daughter's enthusiasm even though she was supposed to be calming down for bed. "Of course Lady Sally may stay tonight. Go change into your night clothes now, and Miss Sally may use an extra set of yours so that she does not have to trouble herself with going back to her room."  
  
"Thank you very much Your Majesty" piped the little blonde. She grabbed the hand of the equally eager princess and they ran off to the adjacent bathroom.  
  
The queen chuckled to herself and looked down at her youngest daughter in her arms. Only seven months old, the baby had her mother's blue eyes and the luxurious black hair all three of the royal family's women shared. It was uncommon in France, the dark hair and slightly amber skin tone. The amber hue grew fainter with every generation but was still there, evidence of their Italian origins. The queen herself, who had also been born in France, had darker skin than Lucrezia or Hilde but lighter then her Italian mother. It was a favorite bedtime story of Lucrezia's, her heritage. Noin's grandmother had been a beautiful Italian woman that a German explorer had come across on the way home from one of his expeditions. He had fallen ill from one of the many diseases found in Africa, where he had been adventuring, which didn't affect him until he reached Italy. When he awoke from his fevered sleep he saw an Italian angel taking care of him. He promptly married the doctor's daughter and settled down in Verona. Their daughter was, in turn, swept away by a Frenchman, an explorer himself. Unlike her grandfather, Noin's father didn't settle down but rather left his wife and small family in France during his explorations, one of which he never returned from. Noin herself had been raised a perfect Lady and, after courtship of proper length, had married Prince Hiro. After romanticizing the story and polishing over some of the more unpleasant details it made an excellent tale for the young princess to fall asleep to. Queen Noin worried that her daughters wouldn't fit in with the other royal court's girls, as she hadn't, fearing that all wouldn't share her husband's opinion that she had given their daughters her rare, exotic beauty. Or so he had told her when they were married. Especially little Lucrezia, with her purple eyes that her own mother had never seen before. She had no recollection of any family members mentioning the unusual color as a trait in her line.  
  
The Queen smiled tenderly as her small daughter yawned sleepily. She winced as she heard two wild yells behind her and the crash of the huge, draped bed as the other two children pounced on it. There was the sound of happy giggles followed by a deep chuckle from the doorway.  
  
At the joyful exclamation of "Daddy!" the raven-haired woman turned around, her smile growing wider. The brunette man came over to her and kissed her on the cheek.  
  
"Hello, dear, I'm sorry to interrupt story time but I must get Hilde to bed now, if you don't mind saying your good night to her first."  
  
"Of course," Hiro replied. He kissed the baby's soft cheek and told her he loved her, wishing her sweet dreams. He stole a quick kiss from his wife as she passed on the way out, laughing as the girls under the thick, purple velvet blanket 'eww'ed at the display of affection. Once the door had been safely shut behind her he took the correct book from it's resting place on the shelf and went over to the gigantic bed, sitting on the edge.  
  
"Good evening Lady Sally," he greeted warmly. " I see my daughter is manipulating your time again," he teased, chuckling quietly.  
  
Sally giggled and exclaimed "Of course not sir! Princess Lucrezia is my beeeest friend!"  
  
Lucrezia giggled too, watching the exchange that was more of a ritual now. She then wriggled impatiently and, seeing her eager look, her father opened the book. This new author of plays was really quite exceptional in the king's opinion, and even if the children couldn't understand some of the concepts now, they would one day and for now it was enough for them to hear the beautiful, if translated, words. Hiro grinned as the girls scrambled to get completely under the plush covers. He started the tale where they had left off a couple of nights ago. "'Peter Quince!'" cried Bottom. 'Now I am down for Pyramus in the play, which is the lover's part and the most important…'"  
  
* * * * * 


	2. Milliardo's pride

AN: ::falls over:: Lady Dante reviewed…whoa. Thankies!  
  
1 Pro. Ch. 2  
  
2 April 8, 1563  
  
Baron Milliardo Peacecraft paced nervously in front of the door to his bedroom, from which he had recently been unceremoniously thrown out. The thick carpeting that covered the cold stone floor would soon show the evidence of his agitated habit, he mused.  
  
Suddenly the mahogany door opened, emitting a short, plump woman who immediately slammed it shut again when she noticed him trying to sneak a peek past her.  
  
"Mr. Peacecraft," she started sternly, "it won't do your wife an ounce of good and it most definitely won't help the baby come any faster if you wear a whole in the rug." She gripped him firmly by his broad shoulders and backed him up until he stumbled into one of the chairs set up across the wide hall. "Now, you just stay there and try to calm down. Ms. Katrina is fine and so far, so is the babe. I need to get more hot clothes but don't let me catch you anywhere near that room or I'll make you wait in the hall!"  
  
"Yes, ma'am," he replied submissively, now fiddling with his shoulder length blonde hair.  
  
Next to him sat his miniature duplicate looking at his father in bewilderment. Zechs Peacecraft had never seen his father in such disarray. He, too, was excited by the imminent birth of his little brother or sister but, unlike his father, he was the picture of calm and collected. Zechs merely swung his legs in the chair, more from being in one position too long than worry for his mother. Mrs. Noventa, the midwife and their family servant, had said that they both were alright so what was his father so worked up about?  
  
Mrs. Noventa came back just then and, casting an approving glance at the baron for not moving from his seat, reentered the bedroom. Her own daughter, who worked in another household near by with her husband, was expecting a child as well and she could only hope that her son-in-law was more relaxed when the time came. The door once again closed and the boy's boredom increased. His sire let out a great sigh, and continued to fidget in a most undignified manner.  
  
Suddenly there came a great commotion from within the restricted room. Milliardo perked up and stared expectantly at the entrance to his sleeping quarters. Sharp orders were heard through the wood followed by muffled screaming which made the man jump to his feet again.  
  
Now Zechs was concerned, too, for he had never heard his mother, or anyone for that matter, scream in such obvious pain and suffering. He was now totally bewildered. If his mother was in pain, why was his father still outside the room? What happened to the baby? From the tension in the air he knew better than to ask though.  
  
There was a mighty slap and then the infuriated wailings of a newborn were heard from the other side of the door. The relieved look on the baron's face provided some comfort to his son who was now looking just as eagerly at the fateful door. From within emerged a tired looking Mrs. Noventa holding a small bundle of white cloth. She smiled wearily, "Congratulations, Baron Peacecraft, you have a beautiful daughter. Both she and her mother are doing just fine. Exhausted, but fine."  
  
She carefully transported the bundle from her arms to Milliardo's. He gazed down at the pink little face of his second born, his first daughter, with pride and awe. Then, just remembering his son's presence, he gingerly squatted in front of the boy, letting him have his own first view of his little sister.  
  
She was, indeed, very pink and chubby, as all babies are. Her eyes were a darker color than his were; though not quite the green of his mother- more of a turquoise. She had little fluffs of honey colored hair still drying from delivery. He grinned in approval at his father, who smiled back readily. He rose from the awkward position and they silently made their way into the room where the little girl had been born.  
  
Upon their entering Baroness Katrina gave them a weak smile, holding her arms out for her baby, which was handed over reluctantly.  
  
"She's wonderful Katrina." Milliardo marveled breathlessly and gave his wife a kiss on her sweat-dampened forehead.  
  
"I like her too!" piped up Zechs, causing his parents to smile at him again. Then his young face screwed up into a comical frown. "Mother, Father…what is her name?"  
  
The couple looked at each other and then their daughter. Katrina decided to voice the name she had liked the sound of. "Well, I was considering a few, but right now only one sounds just right. What do you think about the name Relena Peacecraft?" Her question included both of the blondes.  
  
A grin of agreement came from both parties and they all sat there admiring the new addition to the family until Mrs. Noventa came and shooed the two of them out, claiming that the girls needed to rest. "Oh dear, I'm afraid I don't even know the little dear's name yet!" She turned questioningly to the baron, usually given the privilege of announcing his child's name. But the young boy looked up at his father pleadingly for permission to perform the honor.  
  
Milliardo chuckled and gestured for Zechs to proceed. He drew himself up and said in a loud, clear voice that was humorously formal, "Mrs. Noventa, may I introduce you to my little sister, Miss Relena Peacecraft?"  
  
* * * * * 


	3. A Lady scorned

A. N.: Adults in this one! Wow! Sorry about the wait but I just got ungrounded ::grumbles:: mean parental units.  
  
Pro. Ch. 3  
  
April 8, 1563  
  
Lady Une held her head up proudly as she walked down aisles of trader's stalls that lined the street. The Maguanac Traders only came into town once a year or so and she wasn't about to miss the new imports simply to spare herself the inevitable whisperings and disgusted stares.  
  
Her younger brother, Niikol, who was only 16 himself, was at her arm, shooting concerned glances at his sister. No matter what everyone else thought of her Niikol adored his big sister and wouldn't desert her at a time like this. So when she had announced that she was going to the Trader's fair he had immediately volunteered to come along.  
  
Lady Une paused at a table that displayed fine clothes all the way from India, or so the sign said.  
  
"…did they ever figure out who…"  
  
"…no, I don't' think they did…"  
  
Oh, Lady heard the murmuring alright, but she wasn't about to deign the gossipers with a reaction. She elbowed her brother, who was still growing and only a couple of inches taller then herself, in the ribs to stop him from glaring at the speakers.  
  
Lady merely fingered a pale pink silk, ignoring everyone around her.  
  
"Niikol, I think Midii needs some night clothes. Think this silk is suitable?" She held up the shining cloth for his inspection.  
  
He took the pale folds in his hands, feeling the smooth texture of the cloth. Expertly he gave a sharp tug on the edges and when the cloth didn't tear he smiled at his brunette sister. "It should do fine, Lady."  
  
The trader to whom this stall belonged had been watching the two of them carefully and when these words were spoken he calmly asserted himself behind the counter.  
  
"Are you interested in that bolt of silk, sir? M'lady?" He asked in a heavily accented voice. All the Maguanac Traders were from Arabia originally and had become quite adept at several languages each.  
  
"Yes," replied Lady Une. "How much?"  
  
And the bartering began. Abdul, the trader, was privately impressed with her ability to argue the price down to what she wished it to be. She had a magnificent glare that unnerved even an experienced trader like himself. Her chocolate brown eyes revealed that she was enjoying the bargaining, however, and when they finally settled on a price (much lower than Abdul would normally ever sell such silk at) she broke out into a wide smile.  
  
Just then the door to the travel wagon next to him slammed, causing the three of them to snap their heads in the direction of the noise. A yellow whirl raced down the steps and hid behind Abdul, followed by a woman with dark blonde hair and blueberry colored eyes.  
  
"Quatre! Get in here now, young man!" She called after the boy, coming down the couple steps with a bit more grace then he had.  
  
Abdul smirked and looked at the little boy with platinum blond hair behind him. "Are you causing trouble for your sister again, Master Quatre?"  
  
"But Abdul," he whined, peeking out. "Iria was going to make me sew!"  
  
"Oh, no! The horror!" Abdul laughed when his wife glared at him for encouraging her brother. "Alright, Master Quatre, I think you better do what she says. You may look only nine but I know you're twelve and quite capable of undertaking the horrible task of sewing."  
  
The boy gave his brother-in-law an accusing glare of betrayal but allowed himself to be dragged away by his grateful sister.  
  
Abdul turned back to his customers chuckling. "Excuse the interruption, Master Quatre's father agreed to letting his only son come on this round of trading with his sister. With twenty-nine older sisters he has become the heir of the Winner fortune and needs 'culturing'."  
  
"It's perfectly fine trader. If what you said about his age is true then you're right, he looks much younger. But what beautiful eyes he has. I've never seen that color aqua before. Where did you say they were from?" Lady Une asked.  
  
"Oh, the Winners? They are currently living in Italy although I'm pretty sure their roots go back to Norway, or somewhere around there. You don't get that color blonde from Italians." He informed them while cutting the required amount of pink silk for them. "There you go ma'am. Have a good day and come back next year!"  
  
"Thank you, Trader Abdul, and I'm sure we will stop by next year." Lady returned the courtesy as Niikol collected the bolt of fabric and nodded politely to him. The moved down along the stalls and booths, casting appraising looks at the wares for sale. Lady Une sighed. She was in much better spirits then she had started out with that morning. Abdul perhaps didn't know what everyone else in town did. Although she didn't know how that was possible. It had been over three years since her pregnancy had been announced, without her consent, and it was still the most talked about scandal in town.  
  
Before the declaration, Lady Une had been one of the most eligible young ladies around and her attentions were much sought after by the young men. Her parents were nobles and on good terms with King Hiro, which was always a plus. Her features, while not stunningly beautiful, could be described as elegant which was the look many women were going for now. She had natural grace in her movements and was normally kind, if a bit too intelligent for most men. Her temper, however, was atrocious. When angered she was very likely to say blunt things and do rash things that she would regret later. When her temper was working with her mind, however, it was a deadly combination.  
  
That was what had drawn him to her. He had been fascinated with her wit and charm. Treize Khushrenada. A rich aristocrat, exceptionally hansom, with intelligence and dignity of his own, and married.  
  
She should have known better. He should have known better. They both should have stopped before it had gotten so far. But they couldn't help themselves, the mutual attraction was far too strong. Even though he was married, he claimed to love her. And in her heart, she knew it was true.  
  
Treize, while having an incredible sense of honor, couldn't see any way to admit to what he had done without compounding the problem for Lady Une. If it had only caused him problems, he would have told the public without hesitation of their association and the results of it.  
  
Treize's marriage had been arranged, like many, by his parents. He hadn't truly cared for Leia's docile ways, but knew better then to argue with his father. He had no reason to refuse at the time. Until he met Lady, a mere year later. He was nineteen while she was only sixteen. For the first time in both of their lives they had something to wake up in the mornings for, even if they had to keep their love a secret.  
  
Niikol looked down at Lady when he heard her sigh. He winced, knowing that she was thinking of him. The man who had ruined her life. The man who had gotten his sister pregnant and then was unable to marry her because he was married to another woman. Niikol hated the man with everything in him for doing this to Lady. The worst part was that only the three of them knew that Treize was his niece's father. That part, at least, they had managed to keep from the prying eyes of the public. It was speculated over, of course, but Midii looked only a little like her mother and not at all like her father. It wasn't enough to make any plausible guesses, anyway. Which, of course, made the people, who loved nothing more then juicy gossip, frustrated, and dislike Lady more. Another reason Niikol hated Khushrenada. His sister was now despised, openly humiliated and an outcast of society. Their parents had kicked her out of the house for the sake of their own social status but 'generously' gave their daughter and granddaughter allowances. Niikol, to the extreme distress of all his family members, had chosen to go with his idolized older sister to the little cottage she had bought. Lady had, after seeing how determined he was, accepted him with open arms and a relieved smile. He admired her all the more for holding her head up high the entire time and proudly taking Midii on outings. Another kick in the butt for public was that Midii was undeniably one of the most beautiful babies around. With wispy blond hair, gray eyes and delicate features he could see that she would grow up to be a knockout. Her coloring was a mystery, since her mother had brown eyes and glossy brown hair while her father had golden brown hair and royal blue eyes. Her uncle prayed that she wouldn't be discriminated against because of her parents' transgressions. Yet another reason to hate that man.  
  
Niikol was shaken from his dark thoughts when Lady stopped and asked him something.  
  
"Excuse me, sister, did you say something?" he asked apologetically.  
  
She chuckled at his disoriented expression. " I said would you like fresh bread for dinner later?"  
  
They were standing in front of the local baker's shop. Traders could rarely sell fresh food since it spoiled on the long trips in hot wagons and this was the best shop around. Niikol smiled and nodded at Lady. They entered the small, oven-warm store and stood in the short line to give their order. The smells wafting from the baking room behind the counter were wonderful and the siblings both took deep breaths of the floury, spicy scents. They laughed at each other for doing exactly as predicted.  
  
Hearing the laughter, family ahead of them turned around and, recognizing them, immediately turned back again. Their smiles faded at this dismissal. But as Niikol looked at Lady in concern, he saw her smile return. He looked up bewildered, and saw a boy of about three peeking over his mother's shoulder with gorgeous forest green eyes and a funny smile on his face. Niikol grinned at the boy's antics, too, catching Lady's eyes. She returned her gaze to the little boy with rich brown hair that fell over one eye despite the obvious attempts to keep it back.  
  
If she remembered right, this was the Bloom family. The father, Quinze, was a sexist jerk, according to her own father, and kept his frail wife in a constant state of pregnancy. The evidence of this observation was clear by the large bulge of the woman's stomach under her skirts. They had already had three live children in the six years of their arranged union. Their latest child had been a stillborn. The eldest, Wufei, was just like his father, a chauvinistic know-it-all even at the young age of five years. However, the boy seemed to be showing a sense of honor and more compassion then his sire had ever bestowed upon anyone. The daughter, at four, was a bit haughty and very proud of herself to a certain extent but had a potential kindness Lady Une could only hope her mother would develop in little Catherine. The youngest, Trowa, was the one currently making silly faces at her and only three years old. 'A dear heart,' Lady thought. She hoped he wouldn't be corrupted by his father's way of thinking. She winced, remembering that Leia Barton/ Khushrenada's brother shared the boy's name and quickly dismissed the painful thought.  
  
Abruptly the family took their purchase and left, Trowa waving at them over the gravid woman's shoulder. Lady waved back before placing her order. 'At least there's one good heart in that wretched family.' She cast a worried glance at the retreating back of Mrs. Bloom. 'If that man keeps on like this, that woman won't last long though…' 


	4. Longing for what can never be...

1 Pro. Ch. 4  
  
2 A tall, regal looking man was strolling down the street, through the market that rarely was graced with the footprints of his shiny black boots. He wore blue pants and a matching tunic of a rich material that was belted at the waist with fine black leather. His white under shirt was crisp and clean, having neglected his jacket due the warm spring weather. Well, relatively warm anyway, since he was still inclined to wear his black cloak, held together across one shoulder traditionally with an expensive golden clasp. His golden brown hair shone healthily in the sun, neatly brushed back although two of the short locks insistently fell across his forehead and calm, piercing blue eyes. Even had he been wearing rags none would mistake him for anything but nobility. He had a polite and arrogant, if constantly amused manner about him. It drew people, or at least their admiring gazes, to him. There was something intriguing about the young man that made others of his class want to meet him, if not befriend him.  
  
On his arm was a pretty young woman with intricately styled brown hair and light blue eyes. She had a polite, tolerant look to her but had no open warmth and her demeanor didn't encourage contact. She, too, was richly, fashionably dressed in a dark green velvet dress.  
  
They walked along the cobblestones talking to the others in their group of aristocrats although not much to each other. They would occasionally pause by a stand that had a product some one in the party was interested in. The other people looking at the trader's stalls gave them a wide berth.  
  
The woman's brother stopped at a booth to admire some jewels. "Leia, do you think Marguerite would like one of these ruby earrings?"  
  
Leia Khushrenada held up a delicate hand, adorned with many rings, signaling the rest of them to halt. They did so, admiring the jewelry and commenting on various things.  
  
The young man, Treize Khushrenada himself, looked away idly, bored with their empty phrases. He froze where he was when his intense, royal blue eyes came across the door to the baker's shop. A young woman wearing a simple but elegant dress of the deepest maroon was exiting on the arm of an even younger man who had a wrapped package under his other arm. She carried herself with pride, unconsciously graceful as she stepped down onto the street. She was holding a small bolt of fabric in one arm. 'Lady…'  
  
He stared hungrily at her slight figure. She was smiling faintly, talking to her brother about something that saddened her. He could tell by the look in her attractively tilted, deep brown eyes. How he had gotten lost in those soulful eyes. The cloth she was holding… it was for their child that could never know her father. It was pink silk, which was evidence enough since he knew that Lady Une would never wear pink herself. He wondered wistfully how many coins she had talked the poor cloth trader out of.  
  
Treize watched the siblings until they disappeared around the corner. They hadn't seen him. All to the good, to his thinking, that way he wouldn't have to endure the sad, longing look directed at him that he was very sure would reflect his own expression right now. Realizing this, he immediately schooled his features into their usual confidant, bemused state.  
  
Fortunately Trowa and Leia had finished their bargaining and were moving along, turning down a side street where some of the locals were taking advantage of the fair to sell their own goods. He cast a glance over his shoulder as he was pulled forward by his wife, a futile attempt to get another look at his beloved Lady. 'My dear Lady, what have I done to you?' 


	5. A Perfect Life...

1 Pro. Ch. 5  
  
2 April 10, 1563  
  
A woman with a long brown braid trailing down her back looked up at the sound of horses coming up the path to the house. She paused in her task of sweeping the front steps of her home to shield her eyes with one dusty hand in an attempt to see who was coming. She hoped it was her husband who was due back soon from a conference with the King. He often discussed his job with her so she knew that it had something to do with foreign relations. Spain was being a pain in the ass in her opinion. But her opinion really didn't do much except amuse her husband. She was sure that her observations were occasionally passed on to King Hiro by the amused looks he had given her when in his company. Queen Noin was a friend of hers although they hadn't seen each other in a long time. Maybe next time her husband went to the palace he could take a letter to Noin for her…  
  
At the sight of a creamy stallion trotting at a steady pace towards her home a grin broke out on her face. She swiftly leaned the broom against the side of the doorway and removed her yellowing apron, throwing it carelessly onto the dirt. She dashed towards the mounted man with little of the dignity that ladies of her status were required to maintain.  
  
The man leapt off the horse and held his arms open for his energetic wife who immediately ran into them. He swung her around laughing, her long braid flying out behind her. He set her gently on her feet and kissed her soundly. She ran her fingers lovingly through his short, thick golden locks.  
  
When they broke apart for air his first question was the one his wife had been anticipating. "Good to see you too, love. Where are the boys?"  
  
Her violet eyes sparked with humor as she replied drolly, "They should be 'waking up' from their 'nap' any moment now. Not that I think they slept a wink."  
  
The tall man laughed at the very accurate prediction of what their sons were doing. They usually just made sounds at each other, not being able to speak yet, the entire 'nap' period. They seemed to understand each other even if their parents and nannies didn't.  
  
Putting an arm around her husband's trim waist she led him inside their large estate. They had been married for only two years, and although it was an arranged marriage, their parents had had their complete consent and they loved each other and their twin boys very much.  
  
Glancing at the discarded apron and broom the man frowned and looked at the woman beside him reprovingly. Catching his gaze, his wife gave him a stern look of one that has done so many times. "Dear, don't you dare start harping to me about what ladies are and aren't supposed to do. This is my house and I like caring for it. So don't even start." Her words left no room for argument so he just rolled his amber eyes and gave a mock- exasperated sigh.  
  
Together they crept toward the nursery. Upon entering they were greeted with the happy chortling of their sons, leaning against the cribs with their chubby little arms reaching toward their parents.  
  
"Hello young man," their father said to the youngest, picking him up as his wife did the same for their oldest. The ten-month olds were only a couple minutes apart actually but it was still fun to mark the difference. What was amusing was that the sons being held looked exactly like the parent holding them and nothing at all like each other. "Guess what guys, your daddy got you a present in the Trader's market while he was away." He dug into his belt pouch and pulled out two long silver chains with matching silver crosses hanging on the ends. He had had the boys' names carved into the vertical bar of the crosses. He put one around the neck of the child he was holding. It hung down to his stomach. "One for Solo," he said, and put the other necklace around the other son's neck, "And one for Duo."  
  
Solo and Duo looked curiously at the jewelry and Solo start sucking on his, causing his father to laugh. His wife gave him a peck on the cheek. "That was really sweet of you honey."  
  
He smiled at her and they proceeded downstairs to inform the rest of the household of his return.  
  
* * * * * 


	6. ...Left in Ashes

A.N.: Uh…death warning. Long chapter…  
  
Pro. Ch. 6  
  
April 10, 1563  
  
A cloaked figure sat at the edge of a clearing in the woods. Except for the nervous shuffling of his men around him, it was silent. As if anticipating what was to come, all the usual night animals and insects had ceased to converse. The figure scowled into the darkness. That would make it harder for him and his men to accomplish the mission. Even if it wasn't very likely that some one would notice the slight, trained noises of the band, it was always a possibility. And this cloaked man never overlooked possibilities.  
  
Just then another shrouded figure sidled up to his leader. It was the spy he had sent out. He excelled in his specialty, able to easily pick up irrelevant information from casual conversations and store it away for future use. He could mimic a dozen accents and dialects, speak six languages fluently and impersonate a man after five minutes of careful observation. All this made him invaluable to the cloaked figure's plans. The spy's one downfall was his unbelievable dedication to the church. He claimed that his hands were stained enough with blood, so he might as well try repenting it now.  
  
"Sir," he whispered in their native language; Spanish. "All lights in the servant's quarters have gone out. We are ready to proceed with operations."  
  
"Very good," he replied, also almost inaudible. He then stood up, scanning his troop and drawing the eyes of all his men. "Saddle up. This mission is now underway." He whispered harshly, loud enough to be heard by them. He then leapt astride his own black stallion. The horse was known to bite anyone except his master and could only be cared for or ridden by him.  
  
The cloaked figure watched with mild satisfaction the silent, efficient way all the details that had been drummed into these fool's heads for the past few weeks were being carried out so smoothly. They got into formation, having donned their costumes. With a small smirk the cloaked figure took the lead and they started quietly down the wide dirt path, the esteemed spy on his right.  
  
Just as they reached the turn in the path that lead to their destination he raised his hand in the sign to halt. The company came to an abrupt stop and, without being told, shed their black outer coverings. They also began lighting torches and unfolding their horses' stolen blankets and adornments.  
  
The leader, too, dramatically discarded his trademark cloak to reveal a handsome young man with brown hair neatly trimmed to his ears and eyes that gleamed with malice. The man could have cared less about his position as the King's top assassin. He took great pride in his skill and was constantly going over previous missions to point out little mistakes and details that could have gone faster or smoother or even classier. He was a perfectionist but had no principals and very few morals, indiscriminately working for the person who gave him the most interesting work.  
  
He hadn't always been this cold, or so they said. He had had a wife, a cunning woman of great beauty often used in his business as a seductress. She had been kind to whomever had been in her husband's band at the time, though, helping many shaken souls and keeping many men loyal to her spouse. She was the only one who could open him up. He had not been at all pleased when she had gotten pregnant, quite disgusted actually, that she was put out of action for months. When she died giving birth to his son her last request was that he looked after the baby for her. He grieved in silence and his already cold exterior turned to stone, even around his son who was given to a wet nurse after birth until the time the boy could be weaned and no longer needed a mother's milk. Also until Odin could find a moment to go home to Spain to retrieve the infant, which could be an intentionally extended period of time.  
  
The spy waited in the solitude of the night until those light brown eyes deemed his troop ready for the task at hand. He spoke only once to the bitter man beside him. "Odin, are we to kill all members of the household, even the children?"  
  
Odin didn't even look at him, giving him a blunt, foreboding "yes". The spy shuddered. The man truly didn't have a conscience. Although his own son was only eleven months old he was still going to kill those babies with no remorse. Or maybe that was why he could do it, after all he might blame his child for the death of his lovely wife and since his word bound him to care for the boy he couldn't harm or abandon him permanently.  
  
Odin gave the gesture for 'move out' and the band started forward, this time much louder, with the horses no longer masking their hoof beats as they had been brought up and trained to do.  
  
They galloped down the path toward the well-kept stone house. A broom and an abandoned apron still lay in the doorway as the chaos inevitably started. The spy cringed as he thought of Odin Lowe's plan, which was being smoothly carried out.  
  
As directed the spy dismounted and ran with some other men to the main entrance. The other men started pounding on the door, breaking it down. Behind him he heard terrified farm animals screaming and saw horsemen tossing some of the torches on bales of hay and the barn. The dry wood immediately caught the flames, the fire lighting the tragic scene.  
  
Bang! The door crashed open and his attention was once more on the matter at hand. The screams of women, most likely servants, were heard toward the back of the house. Some of the men with him went in that direction. Three came with the spy upstairs to the sleeping quarters.  
  
He put on his hard mask of indifference and froze his heart and mind temporarily so he could carry out his orders without becoming sick. The door to the lord of the estate's room was just opening revealing an obviously frightened but determined young woman followed by her husband.  
  
"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, taking in the colors of the French army with considerable confusion.  
  
"Orders of the King." the spy replied emotionlessly and affecting a perfect French accent, gesturing to the men beside him. They stepped forward, swords drawn.  
  
He watched as the couple's eyes widened in fear. The beautiful lady brought her hands to her lips to muffle a scream as the men bore down on them. The man watched helplessly, not having or seeing a weapon with which to defend his family. He had no where to run so he instinctively embraced his beloved and backed up against the wall, twisting around so he protected her with his body.  
  
The first rogue lifted his sword, gleaming dully in the poor lighting of the hall. This time the woman, her violet eyes tearing in shock and sorrow, didn't hold back. She screamed in agony as her husband's body fell against her, blood staining her hands as she tried vainly to hold him upright. The spy knew the sword had yet to touch her, she was screaming from the inner pain. Weighed down by the body she wouldn't let go of, she sank to the flagstones. She turned her anguished gaze from the man with the sword, now dripping with her husband's blood, to the spy himself. Seeing no remorse or even a hint of pity, she buried her face into her spouse's thick golden hair as the sword was raised once more. She didn't sob or beg like many the spy had witnessed. No, this woman was stronger. She clung to the man whom she would be joining shortly, her slim body tense and expecting the blow that killed her.  
  
Now the girl collapsed in death upon her beloved's body, their blood mingling in a spreading pool on the floor. The spy turned away from the nauseating sight with calm detachment and proceeded down the hall to his left, motioning for the other men to continue downstairs, looking for hiding survivors.  
  
Down this hall, he knew, was the nursery. He could hear the babies crying. With all the noise, he wasn't surprised. He reached the room and pushed open the door, planning to just slit the kids' throats. Easy.  
  
The one he saw first was pink from crying, tears coming out of his amber eyes, and was howling in fright. He came to a standstill. The other boy was standing up in his crib, hands on the bars to support his stubby little legs. He was gazing at the spy in much the same manner his mother had, with her eyes and all. Silent tears streamed down his face but he did not cry out.  
  
The spy lost all resolve and his cold demeanor slipped. These were innocent children. He just couldn't kill them. Thinking fast, he grabbed the noisy boy since he didn't unnerve him as much as the other one. Shocked by the contact, the baby looked at the man tearfully as he was tightly wrapped in a blanket. The spy quickly did the same to the other boy, encountering no resistance from either of them. He picked them up roughly, clutching them together against his stomach and bending over, letting his embroidered cloak fall over them. They were heavy and the spy was huffing by the time he got downstairs, ignoring the dead bodies on the way.  
  
Seeing a man coming toward him for orders, he turned around so the boys couldn't be seen and called harshly over his shoulder, "All clear, burn the place! Now!"  
  
The man saluted and spun on his heal to go back the way he came, relaying the orders. Now all the spy had to do was get out of here. But where?  
  
Ah. The church they had passed on the way. Of course. He was known to ride away from the group after one of the massacres and was never questioned, for all knew he had been to the nearest religious facility to try vainly to purge himself of his recent sins.  
  
He quickly grabbed a mount from those standing in the center of the fray. They had been trained not to run when riderless but their eyes were rolling in fear just the same. The fire and shouts were most definitely unsettling.  
  
The house was now starting to burn at the hands of the raiders who were yelling all the time that it was orders from the King, incase someone escaped and started talking.  
  
Carefully mounting, he dug his heals into the all too willing horse and galloped back up the now ravaged dirt road. He held the scared children to him tightly as the jarring movements upset them enough to send the one howling again. The other must be in shock, he realized. They must have seen their parents' corpses he knew, but he didn't think they would make the connection or understand that the blood soaking the bodied meant the couple was dead. This one evidently did comprehend this.  
  
Soon he had no time to muse about this. He arrived at the large church about twenty minutes after starting out and leapt off the mare, mindful of the twins in his arms. He raced up the steps and set the two down carefully on the wooden porch. He did a double take for a moment when he noticed something shining in the moonlight around the youngest's (who had quieted) neck. A cross. Now the spy was certain he was doing the right thing. He beat the door with his fists desperately.  
  
A light went on inside and the carved door opened to reveal the disheveled priest, looking quite flustered. "Yes, my child, what seems to be the problem?" The man's kind eyes looked worried.  
  
The spy hurriedly gestured to the kids and turned around, running as fast as he could to his horse before any awkward questions could be asked. He galloped back to his troop with one backward glance.  
  
A nun wearing a hastily donned hood that did not mask her blonde hair properly had joined the elderly priest on the steps and was picking up the violet-eyed boy in tender confusion. The priest watched him go but the young man could no longer see his expression.  
  
Shit! He had forgotten to remove his French army costume! That's what the priest had been staring at. 'Oh, well, too late now,' he thought. And he rode back to his people, the Maxwell Church growing more and more distant behind him.  
  
  
  
* * * * *  
  
1.1 Well? I won't be posting for a few weeks: first, because I have finals and then family stuff coming up and second because I'm a lazy-ass and haven't written anything else yet. I was going to start with the actual fic next but I think the next few chapters will be following the characters as they grow up. My traitorous mind just keeps thinking up new twists that can not be achieved without remaining in their pasts a little longer. I also want to thank everyone who's reviewed so far; I'm more amazed at the people that have reviewed than the number. Thanx! 


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